


Vengeful Sword

by CynicalScribbler



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 18:36:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14243337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynicalScribbler/pseuds/CynicalScribbler
Summary: Roma Segura, famed Seraphim of the Order of the Vengeful Sword holds her ground against the rising swell of Chaos on a remote planet. Pure Action One-Shot with some religious bits (of course) thrown in. It's an older story but I think it holds up well, enjoy!





	Vengeful Sword

The only thing heard was the wind, the faint flickers of candles exposing the faint draft that made Seraphim Roma Segura swallow down the chill trailing up her spine. Here, in the most holy sanctuaries of the simplest adornment was where the Sister always found the most faithful, simple people who prayed to a brass statue of the God Emperor of Mankind, made by the local people. It was a tiny, well cared for place. A local priest had often gotten children to help him in cleaning and polishing the statue to a shine. Every morning you would see the villagers brave the cold weather that would chill them to the bone to pray, to ask for the Emperor’s guidance in their eternal winters. Their Order of the Vengeful Sword had been blessed to see this frozen world of Artica II. The Emperor’s light shined down brightly on these people, and Roma and her Order felt determined to protect them from the plague of heresy and Chaos.  
  
Of which, there was an unfortunate problem that her sisters were tasked to remove as of late. But now, they grew on the defensive…not broken, not beaten. But simply waiting for a chance to strike, the humble people of two hundred were nestled in secrecy, well below the church. Foul heretics of Chaos, and more besides were swarming to the planet with all due haste. And all that stood between these people and a death undeserving was the Order of the Vengeful Sword. Much of the Order was engaging them in the only major city they had, while small pairs of sisters were paired to spread out along the underlying villages.  
  
_A spiritu dominatus,_  
  
“Sister Seraphim,” Battle Sister Celiya said quickly, her boots scuffing along the stone as Roma’s eyes flicked upward. The blond haired woman looked tired, her breath coming in huffs and her bolter tight in her hands, Roma tilted her head a moment before her prayer finished and she rose up smoothly to regard her more clearly. None of it looked good, and that made a taste of bile rise in her throat before she nodded for her charge to speak quickly. The vox had mentioned it, they were coming…and it was still days before the Imperial Guard would be here to aid in the holy fire.  They didn’t know how many, they didn’t know when they could help. But the Emperor Protects.

_Domine, libra nos,  
_

“What do we do?” Celiya asked. “There is no way we can defend against any large number-” The disapproving expression on Roma’s face made the young sister flush faintly in shame, head tilted down to bow low on one knee.  Roma let out a faint sigh, tapping her forehead a moment in thought. This was not a traditional situation that the young woman would be familiar with, but still…to find her so quick to question was disheartening as she put her hand against her blond hair with a light smile. There was much she could tell her, if only they had the time.

 _From the lightning and the tempest,_  
  
“You will stay with the people, Celiya. And reflect upon your duties properly.” She reminded. “We do not falter, not in the face of the Heretic, the Daemon, or the Xenos. Our task is one of sacrifice, one that we gladly give.” She said, slipping her hand off as Celiya rose up, a frown faint on her youthful face. One not scarred with battles, with eyes not tainted by the burn of the impure…she would have her day. Today would not be it, but perhaps tomorrow would be…or the day after.

_Our Emperor, deliver us.  
_

  
“What about you, Sister Roma?” Celiya frowned. “Surely you do not think to fight them alone!?” She knew well of the prowess of the Seraphim, especially those within their Order. In their hands, bolt pistols were mere extensions of their will and swords came just as quickly.  
  
“This is not a battle of victory or defeat, it is a battle of time.” Roma reminded firmly.  “One that I will extend as much as I can, Celiya, but I will protect you and the people within. It is your job to ensure that they are not harmed, do you understand?”

 

_From plague, temptation and war,_

_Our Emperor, deliver us._

 

“…Yes, sister,” Celiya said, and Roma smiled in satisfaction. There it was, that fire in her eyes. The fire of faith burning away her fears and giving her spirit strength to fight any man or beast. She hoped that when the day was done, she could teach the young woman more. But now was not the time, she checked her equipment once more and turned to face the doors. She was ready, if she was to die today…it would be on a pile of dead heretics to the Emperor’s name. She could cleanse their filth until her body gave out, until her ammo ran dry. She would succeed, and that would be the will of the God Emperor of Mankind.  
  
“Go, Celiya, I will return,” she promised with an easy smile. Roma doubted she believed her, but she nodded and turned her heel to leave. There was only one point of entry to the shelter, and Roma was standing guard at the very spot. She could hear them, and it was enough to make bile rise in her throat in disgust. Their rancorous roars, the unified crunch of snow in the silent church as the stained glass windows were pounded on by bloody hands. Roma took a faint breath, closed her eyes to the serenity of the Emperor…and then the glass shattered, her pistols were drawn in one smooth motion.

_From the scourge of the Kraken,_

_Our Emperor, deliver us._  
  
They used to be people once, but now they were nothing more than violent heretics of Chaos, their skin marked with unholy sigils that they had carved into their skin. They held any kind of weapon they could muster, their bare fists, crude farming tools or pistols. It didn’t matter, Roma’s twin pistols roared their fury as she advanced, her expression clam against the massive muzzle flashes. Gore splattered across the walls as the cold air wailed in from the shattered windows, and bodies flew back as she moved to the center of the church, the empty magazines of her bolt pistols clattering to the ground. 

_From the blasphemy of the Fallen,_

_Our Emperor, deliver us._

She felt a round slam into her ceramite armor, but she didn’t focus on the pain. Roma ducked under a crazed swing of a gardening hoe and slammed her pistol against the side of his face, blood splattered across the frame as she slammed in a magazine and turned around, raking it across in front of her with a grit of her teeth as the rounds penetrated and exploded behind them. The Seraphim weaved low and forward, loading  a magazine into her second pistol, her arms criss-crossing as she put bolts in two advancing heretics and spread them out when she rose up, tearing out chunks of heads and limbs that sent them foolishly charging to their doom until her weapons clicked empty, her second pair of magazines dropping to the ground.

_From the begetting of daemons,_

_Our Emperor, deliver us._

Roma finally had a moment to breathe, but only a moment. One she took full advantage of by backpedaling when she heard a noise that made her blood run cold and she immediately holstered one of her pistols to draw her power sword, the energy field crackling to life with a grimace. It was a faint noise, a light hiss of servos that precluded the rumble of thunder and the roar of a chain weapon. The slick sound of gore and murder filled her ears and she simply waited, taking what precious time she could to breathe and regain herself as the massive beast tore through the stone and the wood. A true traitor of the Imperium, a Chaos Space Marine…it’s armor an effigy to Khorne as it’s chainaxe roared and Roma immediately opened fire at the rushing marine. Three long strides, and he was on her with a brutal swing of his chainaxe.  
  
She didn’t dare try to block it, instead she moved forward and low. Her sword gripped in both hands as the power field crackled and sunk into the armor at his stomach in a brutal stab. The Berserker tensed and Roma rose up her pistol…she should have known better, perhaps she was too confident. But her vision went colorless  as she was battered aside by a brutal backhand, and Roma barely had the frame of mind to grab her other pistol  as she hit the wall with a pained yelp, both of her weapons raised up as blood trickled down her brow and she opened fire at the advancing Berserker. Bolt shells slammed into his body again and again as he surged forward, his axe raised high in hungry victory.  It was only when the rounds slammed into his chest and blood splattered did he finally slow…and drop like an Ogryn an inch away from her feet. She panted heavily, her hands shaking as she lowered them and fumbled with the reloads, the chambers snapping back into battery. She didn’t need color to see her enemies, but thankfully the dull ache in her head was residing. They were still coming.

_From the curse of the mutant,_  
Our Emperor, deliver us.  
  
She rose up with a roll of her neck, her breath coming up short as she plucked her blade out of the punctured gore of the Berserker’s stomach and gripped it like a lifeline. Still, they persisted.  The Berserker only gave her another moment of respite as the biting wind caressed her sweating face. She would die with her back to the Emperor if need be, but they would not past. At any cost, she heard them before she saw them…and she was already moving with her sword in hand. The first heretic who carried an autogun got sliced in half as she advanced onto the writhing mass of violent heretics.

_A morte perpetua,_

_Domine, libra nos._  
  
She didn’t know how many she cut down, how many more persisted. Her vision was a flash of gray and white with a spec of color. She felt slugs slam into her armor, but her body still moved as her blade hacked through them like cheap paper, the snow turning red with her repeated victories. Her other hand held her pistol, blowing chunks out of rushing cultists as she retreated, avoiding fire and cutting down the charging tainted. Her gun snapped empty, and she holstered it to switch hands and draw her loaded one, gripping another magazine as she  gunned down advancing heretics, her sword in a reverse grip.

 

_That thou wouldst bring them only death,_

_That thou shouldst spare none,_

  
They didn’t stop coming, they were simply stomping over bodies to reach her, they were starting to swarm the church now as gunmen moved through the shattered windows to open fire.  She ducked with a curse, laying on her side as she put four rounds down range and splattered two of the gunmen and caught another one on the head. Empty again, she ejected the magazine and heard a roar of victory. Her eyes widened as she immediately turned on her back and saw the heretic in time to lash her foot out, shattering his shin as he howled in pain and she was on him, a casual brush across the neck slicing through the spine. She ducked again, letting out a pained yelp as a shotgun blast caught her side and she hit the ground. Immediately, she started crawling back with a pained hiss and fumbled with her magazine, slamming it and snapping the slide release. The gunfire was everywhere, and she didn’t have enough ammo as she backed against the statue, her sword discarded as she fired at the rushing heretics. Mindless in their twisted devotion,  they wouldn’t stop until she was dead…until everything was dead.  
  
Three more shorn by her bolts, and her gun snapped empty…and that was it. She was out of ammo, and still they persisted.  She didn’t have the energy to get up, no matter how much she willed it…and she felt her vision fading.  She could hear their disgusted breathing, the shuffle of feat and the unintelligible uttering that made her ears ring. Her pistols discarded around her, she felt the pommel of her sword at her finger tips…and she went for it. One final swing that tore one of them in half, and then her world exploded into a thunderous rancor of bolter fire.

_That thou shouldst pardon none_

_We beseech thee, destroy them._  
  
Roma barely registered the heretics exploding in showers of blood and bone near her as they ran forward or opened fire, it didn’t matter…they were cut down like the unclean filth that they were. Precise, semi-automatic bolter fire that crippled them and sent them ducking for cover. But nothing could save them from their fate, finally…it was over. The church was coated in the blood of heretics, the pews destroyed and splintered. The stained glass widows once depicting great saints and heroes to the Imperium shattered, but where the Emperor’s statue remained, not a blood of drop lay on it.  
  
“Sister!” Celiya said, kneeling down quickly in concern as Roma glanced at her.  “Sister! Are you well!? Speak to me!”  
  
“…Don’t yell,” she mumbled, closing her eyes. “…I’m fine, Celiya. What of the villagers?”  
  
“Safe,” she said, reloading her bolter as she glanced around. “Reinforcements from the Order came, Sister…we’re safe, you did it.” She smiled. “Our Cannoness reports that the city has been taken! We are victorious!”  
  
“You did it,” Roma corrected. “I was simply here to hold them off…I’m very proud of you, Celiya. You held your ground like a true warrior.”  
  
“Stay with me, Sister,” Celiya said quickly. “Help is coming!”  
  
Were it not for the light of the Emperor shining down on her, Roma would have given up…but…it seems that today, it was not her day to die.


End file.
